


The Night Court

by heda_raiven



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-08-22 01:51:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 17,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8268218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heda_raiven/pseuds/heda_raiven
Summary: An alternate universe where Feyre Archeron is constantly fighting with boyfriend, Tamlin. She leaves one night, headed for a hotel with the hopes of getting better rested within the week. Yet a disturbance next door ruins those plans—seeing as Rhysand and his band The Night Court are practicing for a gig they landed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This hasn't been drafted. You'll probably pick up on many errors.
> 
> (Also, if anyone thinks of a less cringey name for the band rather than 'The Night Court', I'd LOVE to know.)

Feyre had taken the initiative to swipe Tamin’s credit card and book herself a hotel for the next few days after the fight they had. It was a petty argument, but he pursued it even when she laughed at his anger. He was so damned adamant that it had made her erupt in a burst of laughter—before he had thrown his hands up and stormed into their bedroom, slamming the door behind him

She’d taken just the card, which he kept in his wallet right by the front door. She didn’t think to leave a note, to call out to him before driving to the other side of the city. 

There had been a small duffle bag always tucked away in the back of her car—just in case, she’d said when she first packed it. But it was never, “Just in case Tamin and I argue too much.” More, “Just in case of an emergency that includes fire or a flood.” 

She sat on the couch with her head in her hands, still in a satin pajama shirt, and sweat pants. Midnight blue, with stars dotting the hem—she wore it to annoy him. He hated the colour. He was more happy at sunrise than sunset. 

That was the one of the many things they never had in common. 

Feyre glanced at the clock, which read ten thirty p.m. She was exhausted, and she felt emotionally drained from the petty argument. But just as she turned off the T.V. and laid her head down, a loud, thumping noise sounded nearby.

It sounded like someone was banging on the walls and doors—as if there was a child in the building smashing on pots and pans. She grabbed the nearest throw pillow and shoved it on top of her face, screaming into it with utter frustration. 

She had no patience, no tolerance for any disturbance. One thing was in her mind at this moment: she was tired and wanted to sleep peacefully. No one, not even her boyfriend or nuisances such as these neighbours, would stop her from having a good sleep tonight. 

She stood up, briefly stopping in front of the mirror to check her appearance—though there wasn’t much to bother about. She’d come here in her sleepwear. Her golden brown locks hung over her breasts—thank the gods, they covered most of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. 

Feyre nodded to herself, and strutted out of her small room directly to the next door over. She knocked three times—changed her mind, and banged with her fist. But it wasn’t their door which opened. Rather, it was the door directly behind her. 

Someone cleared their throat, and Feyre turned. “I wouldn’t bother trying to get them to stop,” he had said. But something in Feyre clicked, like a switch was turned off—she was left speechless. 

The man who had addressed her was inhumanely gorgeous—if not for the fact he wore no shirt, maybe it was the way he leaned against the door frame so lazily. Or all of his dark features—the eyes and hair. No, it was the sharp, broad jaw. She let loose a long, shaky breath and tried to keep her eyes focused on his rather than his bare chest 

“What do you mean by that?” she managed to say. 

He shrugged, “They are part of a band. You’ll find that practising is kind of necessary before a weekend gig.” 

Feyre frowned. “Sleeping is also kind of necessary.”

“I agree,” he nodded. “Which is why I don’t practice with them. I get the sleep and then do what I need in the morning.”

“Wait.” She paused. “So you’re with them?”

He offered his hand, “Rhysand. The band is called The Night Court.” She took it, hesitantly. His hand was warm—his touch gentle, but the skin rough. She found herself clinging to it for a little too long, longer than a handshake was meant to last for.

“Feyre,” she said. “My name is Feyre.”

His brow arched a little, as if he registered the name as familiar. He looked her up and down, assessing her. Especially her face. “Feyre?” he asked. “As in… Tamlin’s Feyre?”

“You say that as if he owns me,” she replied a little hastily. “But yes, Tamlin’s Feyre.” Her last few words were laced with venom. She didn’t try to hide it, either, as Rhysand had heard it loud and clear. 

The band seemed to have finished playing one of the songs, as a pause between the music came about. Rhysand took the opportunity to say, “Well, Feyre darling, they won’t be stopping for a while.” He pointed behind her and stood up straight. “Do you want to come in?”

Darling? She narrowed her eyes. “And do what?” she snorted, turning back to her own door—only to realise she had forgotten to bring the key out with her. “Never mind. Okay—sure, I’ll come in.”

Feyre made her way straight into the room, finding it slightly more luxurious than she’d expected. Hers was… cheap. She felt bad using Tamlin’s money, even if he did treat her horribly. “Tamlin, huh?” Rhysand said from behind her. He came around in front of her and flopped down on the couch. He had put on a shirt—she mentally pleaded for him to take it off.

It was more interesting than whatever station he had the T.V. on anyway.

“How do you know him?” Feyre asked, slowly sitting down on the couch besides him. She made sure to leave a large gap between the two. 

“Ah, we go way back. Saw some update of him getting involved with someone,” he smiled at her. “The others despise him for it—only because they’re all in love with each other and won’t just date already.”

“And you?” she asked. “Are you involved with anyone?”

“Gods no—no,” he laughed. “Mor is basically my sister. Amren would kill anyone who touches her. The guys are practically my brothers, too.”

“You know you can date someone who isn’t in this band of yours, right?”

He pursed his lips, silent for a moment. “I know,” he nodded. “Guess I haven’t bothered with anyone—at least, not since my last.” 

Feyre saw that it was probably not a good conversation to continue. He was hurt more than he let on, and she understood that. So she thought fast on her feet to change it. “I don’t hear any vocals, is that what you do?”

“Do I look like I can sing?” he said, chuckling to himself. 

The smile was contagious, Feyre found herself chuckling as well. “Well my sister, Elain, looks like the prettiest singer in the world. But between you and me, she sounds like a dying bird.”

“Ouch,” he said. “Well, I’m the drummer. The bass sound you hear is the computer generated version of what I play.” He leaned towards the coffee table, grabbing two unopened bottles of beer and offering her one. 

“I don’t drink,” she refused. But, with a raise of his brows, she relented and took it. “Tamlin doesn’t like me drinking.”

“Why not?” 

She pressed her lips together, not liking her answer. It was one of the many petty arguments they had—this one was much earlier in their relationship. It was one of his ground rules that he placed out for her. “He doesn’t like me being sloppy.”

“You’ll have to come to one of our gigs, Amren drinks like crazy afterwards before meeting the crowd. If you think you’re sloppy, just watch her.” He smirked to himself as he took the first drink. 

“Amren is the one who could kill you if you touched her, right?” Feyre asked.

He nodded. “She has no emotions—until she drinks, of course.”

Feyre looked down at her own bottle, with a smile caressing her face. She still felt tired at this point, but—but not so emotionally drained. She found the smile stuck there. Stuck along with the thought that Tamlin hadn’t made her laugh like this, hadn’t let her be loose. He’d been so structured, and that’s what made her leave tonight.

She wasn’t much of a spontaneous person, but what she said next might have changed the course of her week. “I like the sound of her.”

Rhysand relaxed back and propped his legs up on the table. “Well, at about one in the morning, you’ll be able to meet her and the others.”

“I’d love to.” And Feyre followed his movements, taking a drink—her first in a long time—and relaxing back. 

This was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same as the previous chapter, hasn't been edited or drafted.

She woke with the worst headache. And the sunlight filtering from the open window made it even more excruciating—Feyre squinted her eyes as she slowly sat upright. She was in bed. The hotel bed, at least. But she was quick to wonder if it was hers. 

The last thing Feyre remembered was too many empty bottles on the floor. A room full of people, all who claimed to know Tamlin from years ago. She remembered their faces fall as Rhysand introduced her as Tamlin’s—she recalled how, being drunk and sloppy, she had gotten angry at him for the way he spoke of her. She wasn’t Tamlin’s, she was her own. 

He had apologised, his demeanour changed completely.

She smiled at that, before turning to the bedside table and looking for her phone. It was right there, along with a glass of water and… aspirin. Feyre snorted, but appreciated the aid. She took the aspirin, and drank the entire glass of water before braving her phone.

She knew what to expect. Way too many missed calls and texts from Tamlin. It was exactly that. The texts were all the same. In fact, she even seemed to have some from Lucien, who acted like her second boyfriend, only because Tamlin asked him to. 

“Psh,” she threw the phone on the bed, completely ignoring all of it. There was only an ounce of guilt. The headache and exhaustion was too overpowering to care about Tamlin worrying. But she still managed to push herself out of bed, to scout out the blank memories in her head. 

The door swung open just as Feyre stood, to reveal a tall, blond woman with the most beautiful features. She had a full face of make up, the red lips, the deep contour and sharp eyebrows. And her voice was exactly as Feyre had expected.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said. With emphasis on the sunshine. 

Feyre stood dumbfounded. She couldn’t place a name to the face—or a face to the name for that matter. “Uh,” was the only sound coming out of her mouth. 

“Morrigan, but I prefer Mor. We met last night, I brought the pizza Rhys and you were screaming for,” the smirk glazed on those red lips were all Feyre could stare at. Adjoined with what she said—she sounded almost sinister. “You two caused more of an annoyance with the neighbours than we did practicing.” 

“I never scream for pizza,” Feyre said. 

Mor laughed, “I know. But I came in to see how you were feeling. One minute you were the life of the party, the next, we found you on the bathroom floor.”

Feyre blanched at that. 

“I know right!” she laughed once more, motioning for Feyre to follow her out of the room. “We took the liberty of getting you back into your own room.”

“Thank you,” she breathed in reply. Her heart was racing, how long had she blacked out for? Not to mention, she wondered what her behaviour was like. She knew Tamlin had a good reason for not liking her when she was intoxicated. Last night was one of the biggest reasons—but he didn’t need to know, right?

Mor lead her through to the kitchen, “We weren’t sure whether you wanted to eat alone or not. But you are welcome to eat with us. We’ll just have to get you…” She looked her up and down before stating: “You’ll probably need to clean yourself up.”

Feyre nodded, “Of course. Do you mean you’ll be eating out?”

“Everyone is too hungover to cook,” she said. Then pointed to herself, “And I cannot cook to save my life.” They both laughed at that, though Feyre couldn’t relate. “But, come out in twenty minutes. Hopefully everyone else won’t be so drowsy by then.”

Feyre nodded once again, “Okay. I’ll see you in a bit.’

Before Mor was out the door, she had turned around and said on a more serious note: “It is really good to meet you, Feyre.” 

She had a feeling that it had something to do with Tamlin. It made her wonder who she had truly spent the last two years being in love with. Or, rather, if she was even in love with him to begin with. 

* * *

Feyre was leaning against the wall opposite to the door she remembered seeing Rhysand lean against the previous night. She recalled, with severe embarrassment, how she mentally frothed over his body. She was never into tattoos, but on him—delicate black ink covering his upper chest and all of his arms—it was beautiful.

Seeing as the sun was out today, she went for a tight-fitting yet casual, black dress. The sleeves ended with lace, running down the length of her arms. The dress itself hung just slightly above her knees. It was another thing Tamlin hated. Perhaps because how low cut it was, especially when she wore a push up bra—not that she needed it—like she did now. 

The door to her side opened to reveal two men with a similar look to Rhys. She faintly remembered them from the previous night—but she doubted she could add a name to their faces. The first had longer hair than the other, dark and unbrushed. He also had stubble growing along his broad jaw, just adding to his already ragged look. 

The second was more clean shaven, his face narrow and his black hair gelled back even though it was considerably short. Though she could see his biceps through his thin white shirt, he was more lanky than the other. 

“Right,” the burly one said. “Mor said you would have no idea of who we were. Cassian.” He reached his hand out to her, which she gladly took and held firmly for a moment. 

“Azriel,” the other half-smiled and offered her a curt nod—which she returned. 

“So,” Cassian started. “Do you really not remember a thing?”

Feyre bit her bottom lip, now more than slightly embarrassed. “I don’t really remember meeting you. Just that you all were astounded that Tamlin and I were dating.”

“Were?” Cassian managed to say before a door opened. 

Feyre turned to see, perhaps, the most familiar face from last night. “Rhysand,” she smiled. 

“Rhys is fine,” he returned the toothy grin, ignoring his friends. They both shared looks, finding the situation somewhat hilarious. “Shall we go? Mor and Amren have already left. They have larger stomachs than the rest of us.” 

Cassian snorted, “Obviously. And how can anyone bitch so much on an empty stomach? Mor wouldn’t be Mor without the bitch of a personality.” 

Rhys ignored that remark, and told Feyre to do the same as they walked to the elevator. “I heard that you woke up worse than we’d expected,” he said quietly. His voice was soft, somewhat croaky perhaps from whatever they’d been screaming about last night. “I’m sorry. I should have realised that you weren’t used to drinking.” 

“It sounded like you had as much fun as I did,” Feyre smirked, however. She looked at him from the corner of her eye. Amusement had flooded his face, and a chuckle escaped his lips. Her eyes lingered on the latter a little longer than she wished. But the view was nice. Seeing as he’d covered up with a long-sleeved sweatshirt this morning, she needed something attractive to look at. 

“It seems as though I remember more of it than you do, though.” Her cheeks flushed. “But I probably feel as bad, even worse, than you do right now. You had more sleep than me.”

“You kept going even after I passed out?” 

He laughed. “How could I not with those two?” He gestured to behind him. “They wanted to know everything you told me about Tamlin. How long you guys have been together for. You’d think they were obsessed.” 

“You mean to say they’re obsessed with the fact that you’re drinking alone with another girl. Specifically, Tamlin’s girl.”

He groaned, “I’m sorry. I am so sorry for that. I should have introduced you to them as Feyre, and Feyre only.” 

Feyre opened her mouth to reply—to say it was okay, only to be interrupted by Cassian. 

“I think you should be introducing her as Feyre darling, as Rhys here were referring to you all night.”

Both Azriel and Cassian erupted in laughter, and soon enough Feyre joined them, leaving Rhys massaging his temples and turning his eyes away from the others. Feyre continued to giggle as she nudged him with her elbow. He gave her a soft smile and said, “Alright, Feyre darling. Let’s just stick to getting food down our throats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 coming soon :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, shorter than the rest!

“The head can’t be that bad,” Mor exclaimed, in an awfully loud voice—on purpose of course, seeing as she sat on one side of Rhys. Feyre was on his other side, opposite her sat Amren. She lived up to the expectation—she had a resting-bitch face that she owned. Her short cut hair was as sharp as the nails that pressed into Feyre’s palm when they shook hands. 

Rhys shifted a little closer to Feyre, leaning on her shoulder. “Can’t you be a little understanding?” he complained. Mor shoved another piece of her muffin in her mouth, while Feyre delicately sipped from the cup of coffee she had ordered. 

“Feyre,” Cassian started from across the booth. “Surely you have to remember your impossible win at beer pong last night. You and Rhys against Az and Mor.”

She raised an eyebrow, a clear no. 

“And Rhys didn’t get any of the shots,” Azriel sniggered. “It was all you.” He turned to Cassian, and together they both chimed: “Feyre, darling.” Amren, even with her stone-face, managed to smile just a little in amusement. 

“It was a great win,” she nodded in agreement, arms folded against the table. “Please never let those two hear the end of it. Azriel hadn’t lost a game for such a long time, especially with Mor as a partner.”

“Oh, hush,” Mor rolled her eyes. “Feyre, eat. Your vomit last night was pure liquid.”

Feyre went still, “I vomited?”

Rhys laid a gentle hand on Feyre’s, soothing her. “Mor is just trying to make herself feel better. If you look closely, you can see her eyes are still bloodshot from all the crying she did last night.” 

Mor snorted, “I didn’t realise this breakfast was going to be a roasting. Yes, I cried. Let’s leave it at that.” 

Feyre jumped in then, “No. What were you crying about—and when was the crying happening?”

“Clearly after Mor and I got your drunken ass back into your room,” Amren pointed out. “We sat with you for a while till you seemed okay. Then she started crying, saying oh Amren, you’re like the sister I never had. She says the same thing whenever she drinks wine.”

Feyre acted shocked, “Wine? You guys had wine—and you had me drinking beer!” She made to jab Rhys in the arm, but he moved in time to grab hold of her hand.

“Mor had the wine stowed away,” he defended himself, not letting go of her hand even when she seemed to watch it so intently. After a moment, he loosened his already soft grip, so that her hand dropped back into her lap. The others hadn’t been looking to see how her cheeks flushed. 

Cassian had been talking about Mor’s crying, when Feyre turned her attention back to the group. “Let’s not forget that you returned to our room with the intent to continue crying about even more petty thing.”

Azriel’s mouth gaped open as he made a sarcastic comment: “Petty? My hair is nothing petty. I thanked Mor for all the compliments she gave me.”

“Let me guess,” Mor laughed at herself. “I appreciated that you actually groomed—unlike a certain someone.”

Cassian threw his hands up, “Hey. Its my signature look, gotta get noticed somehow.” 

And as Feyre looked at each one of them, she realised they all had their own separate looks—not often seen in bands who always looked the same. Mor was the only blond, and exquisitely feminine in the way she dressed. Amren had a peculiar face, her jet black hair was perfectly cut just above her shoulders, and her face was the opposite to Mor’s—in that it seemed to not have an ounce of make up on it. 

As for the three males, they each had the same tan skin, as if they were in fact brothers. But it was easy to see that each of their grooming techniques differed. Azriel looked as if he looked after his hair the most, as if he shaved each and every day—as if her brushed his hair back with gel as well. Feyre wondered how he had time for that, when she only had time to rake her fingers through her knots. 

Cassian on the other hand was the complete opposite. Just as Mor suggested, Cassian didn’t seem to bother about the length of his hair or the mess it was in. His face was in dire need of a shave, too, unless he was hoping for that beard to come around in the next week or so. 

As for Rhys, she turned her head to him. Feyre noticed now how close he was, how his hand was mere inches away from her own—and it had been holding hers previously as well. She saw his jawline had slight stubble just coming through. His hair was messy, perhaps from the previous night if anything. 

Once again, she had to return her focus back to the conversation—only to realise they were all headed back to the hotel. “How long are you staying for?” she asked Rhys as they walked side by side, towards the back of the group. 

“We’re in the city for two weeks,” he said. “Which is why the room I have is my own. I can’t stand two weeks with the entire group. They like sharing, though.” 

“So there are four of them in one room?” she laughed, to which he nodded. “Well, I booked my room for a week.” 

The sidelong glance, and the knowing smirk that played at his lips had her biting down her lip. Hard. She turned her head away, with the hopes that he hadn’t seen the blush that spread up her cheeks. As they reached the building, he held the door open for her. 

“You should call him,” Rhys finally said as they walked out of the elevator. “Tamlin. Call him.” He waited for her to respond as they stood in the hallway. Feyre looked down at the floor, at her feet. Rhys spoke up again, “You can always come and watch me play, as well. I’ll be right next door.”

“No, you’re right,” she looked up at him. “I should call him. I will. I’ll have my sisters come over too. They live on this side of town.”

He smiled then, nudging his door open. “I’ll see you soon?” 

“Of course, neighbour.” She smirked back at him, ducking her head as he said one last thing before entering his room.

“It was nice hanging with you, Feyre darling.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to write this chapter at all :(

Feyre sat on the bed, curtains drawn to reveal tall sky scrapers of the city. Her phone sat lazily in her lap, she wanted to ignore it, but she needed to call him. Rhys was right. She needed to call Tamlin, to talk to him. To ask what she’d been meaning to ask for a while. 

So she called and he picked up immediately. She put him on speaker, and swallowed as he spoke.

“Feyre?” it wasn’t Tamlin.

“Why do you have his phone, Lucien?” she asked. 

There was a pause, he seemed as though he was moving. She heard his soft footsteps on hardwood floor—Lucien was in her house. “He’s been uh,” his voice was a little softer. “Can you come home?” 

“Can you answer my question?” 

“He’s been breaking things,” he answered immediately. “Please come home?”

Feyre stretched her legs out ahead of her and leaned against the back of the bed. She’d piled the pillows up behind her for comfort. She rubbed at her head, not sure how to answer. She didn’t want this conversation with Lucien, she needed it with Tamlin. He was, after all, the person she’d been dating for years now. 

“There was this picture of you and a—uh, an old acquaintance of his.” He paused again. “He saw it. He saw the bottles. Saw you happy—that smile—oh God, Feyre, please come home.”

She could picture everything that Lucien was trying to explain. How Tamlin would freeze up, she could just imagine the anger that had built up by a single photo. And for him to lash out wasn’t a first. He had an entire office she knew to stay far from—she saw it once after an outburst and wondered if being with him was going to be a task. 

“Lucien, you don’t have to be in the house with him,” she finally said. 

“I’d rather ensure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“That’s not your job!” 

There was another shuffle, and murmuring on the other side of the line. Feyre bit her lip, Tamlin had been speaking, had heard Lucien on the phone. She just wished that Lucien left, until things settled down. He didn’t need to be a part of this discussion, anyway.

“Feyre,” he seemed to breath into the phone. She shifted backwards, as if he were in the room with her. As if he could feel his presence. Some part of her choked up at the sound of his voice, she’d been dreading it. But now, especially in comparison to Rhys’ voice—she couldn’t quite listen to it without pulling back.

He went straight to what she’d expected: “Come home. I’m sorry. I got angry over nothing—it won’t happen again. Come home, Feyre.” 

“No,” her lip quivered. “No, I’m bot coming home.”

She could almost see him seething. “You have to come home.”

“I don’t want to come home,” Feyre said, slightly stuttering but handling herself quite well considering how hard it was to say no to Tamlin. “I—I’m staying here.” 

“And what’s there?” he raised his voice a little. “A ragtag bunch, a charming guy—”

Feyre sucked in a breath, realising what he had thought. “Tamlin, no! I would never!”

“Right, because that’s what it seemed like in the pictures.”

She felt herself tear up, felt her throat tighten as if his hand had gripped it. She reached up to rub at the spot that hurt, like the bruise that had once been there reformed right here and now. She winced when she touched it.

“Prove me wrong,” he continued. “Prove that things are fine, we can talk here.” As if she wanted to be there with him. “Come home.”

“I’m staying here,” she didn’t even hesitate. And the phone disconnected. She wasn’t sure if she had ended it, or if he did, but either way it didn’t matter. At that point, she just let herself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are their any specifics i should add in following chapters? would love some little extras to add into the mini plot i already have :)


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet, kind of. Currently studying for upcoming exams and Nanowrimo starts soon, so I'll be updating this as often as possible which... might not be so often.

He’d been locked outside of both his own, and the others’ hotel rooms for a good fifteen minutes now. It wasn’t that he lost the keycard—or even that the others weren’t in the rooms sniggering at the fact he had been so stupid. And, it all started when Rhys called Cassian out for being horrible about the sobbing heard from the other room. 

Feyre’s room.

They had thin walls in this complex. Thin enough that Cassian and Azriel both came running to Rhys doubled over in laughter. At least the former was. Azriel was a little kinder, but he had the same smile in his eyes. It took Rhys some energy to not yell. After all, it was him who had told her to call Tamlin—clearly the very person who had made her into the wreck Cassian was explaining.

“Listen,” Rhys said, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll be the one crying, loud enough to maybe lift Feyre’s spirits.” That seemed to do the trick. 

Now Rhys kicked himself, he should’ve seen the glint in Cassian’s eye when he suggested going to cheer her up. “Go and see her!” Mor nodded at that, claiming that the poor girl needed some help. 

Amren and Azriel refrained from joining in. They seemed to be more interested in a wordless conversation between them. But they were now involved, seeing as they didn’t say anything when Mor—that sly bitch—somehow managed to grab his keycard from his wallet before he left to get snacks.

The snacks that Cassian asked for. How stupid was he to think the snacks were for him? Clearly they were just for a simple shove out the door, so that he’d have a reason to go and see Feyre. Something to bring her.

Chocolate and ice-cream. Did Cassian really have to ask for anything less suspicious?

He reluctantly knocked on her door, softly, compared to the times he had banged on his own. Rhys heard shuffling inside, then the lock changing. And the door opened slightly, but enough to reveal a disheveled girl.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her head ducking and eyes averting from his. 

“Me?” Rhys replied, dumbfounded. He lifted the bag up, “I brought food.”

* * *

Feyre was sat with her knees up on the lounge. Her room was much smaller than she remembered Rhys’ to be, but it was enough for her lazing about. 

He’d been gentle with her once she invited him, even commented on how clean the place was. To which she actually smiled at—his had been covered in empty bottles and plastic cups from their drinking night. She also secretly thanked him for bringing food. Breakfast had been over two hours ago, and she had barely finished her coffee. 

“There’s plenty more in the fridge,” he said, handing over a bowl overflowing with ice-cream topped with chocolate pieces. He sat next to her, a bowl in his own hands as well—just not as full as hers. But, she didn’t care. It was a sweet gesture she needed to cheer her up. 

After shoving a spoon in her mouth, Feyre said, “So who persuaded you to come here?”

“Cassian, after I threatened him.” She frowned. “I said I’d kick him hard enough that you’d hear him cry, and it would lift your spirits.”

She pointed her spoon at him, “I like that idea. Better than ice-cream and chocolate.” Rhys pouted. “But your company usurps it all.” He nodded in approval.

“If I gave you bad advice, I’m sorry,” Rhys said after a moment. 

Feyre sighed, leaning over to place the now empty bowl on the ground. “It wasn’t a bad idea. It was just something I kept putting off.” She swallowed. “He’s just very—I don’t know.” She trailed off, eyes lowered to her fiddling hands. 

Rhys sucked in a deep breath, “Want to know about my tattoos?” Feyre looked up, eyes sparked with interest. “This one here is my favourite.” He pointed down to his knee, where the tattoo of an abstract mountain was printed just below where his shorts cut off. There were small dots, she guessed to be stars, spotted above the point. 

“Why a mountain?”

“One day,” he started. “I’ll leave the city life and replace it with a small cottage somewhere on a mountain. Its more of a dream. But having it there makes it seem reachable.”

Feyre smiled at that, at the thought of this sculptured man had a dream of being surrounded by not concrete jungles but the real namesake. And she looked at him properly, studying him. He wasn’t what he appeared—he looked rough, perhaps even tough. He was much of a joker, but respected boundaries. Rhys stood proud, but knew when to take a step back or a step down. It brought a smile to her face. 

“And the others?” she nodded towards his arms, all pattered in delicate patterns all moulding into one another. Unconsciously, one of his hands lifted to his arm and almost traced the patterns from memory. 

“A couple small pieces here and there were chosen by the others,” he said. “They’re life family, so when we spend time apart I like to know a part of them is still with me. Just not the troublesome parts.” He winked at her, eyes flicking to the smile she still wore. 

“Take me to get one,” she stated.

“What?”

“I’m being spontaneous,” she stood up. “Let’s go.” 

His brow furrowed, “You don’t want to think about this first?”

But she was already at the door, bag in hand, ready to be taken somewhere—anywhere, that would make her feel better. Though, she had to admit, the fact she had company such as Rhys’, that was fortunate enough.


	6. Chapter Six

Feyre was adamant for him to choose the ink for her. To choose where it would go, how big or small—and every little bit of detail that was incorporated into it. Rhys was surprised she didn’t suggest he just did it himself. But at least it did’t go that far. He had a steady enough hand to play the drums, but not enough to draw something permanent on skin.

“Uh,” he said, flipping through a book that held picture upon picture of what the tattooist might be able to do. Feyre was relaxing back in the cushioned chair, looking down at the hand which Rhys had chosen for the tattoo. He had claimed that it was where he got his first tattoo. Feyre had cackled at him being sentimental. 

“This one,” Rhys pointed to a picture, deliberately moving his body in the way so that only the tattooist saw it. Feyre stretched her leg out, nudging him with her foot and groaning in frustration. “You can see it when its on your skin forever,” he turned and smirked at her. “Can we blindfold you?”

“Go ahead, but I’ll end you if—”

“Its a beautiful tattoo,” the woman said as she sat down in front of Feyre. “Pretty sure it’s one that Rhys has had his eye on for a while now.” Reluctantly, Feyre took the bandana he had held out for her, and tied it around her eyes. 

She tried to remember the look of her bare skin, knowing it would be the last memory of it before it was covered in dark ink. She felt Rhys brush his hand over her hand before another gloved one replaced it. She didn’t even try to repress the smile that came.

* * *

“Let’s see it then!” Mor shouted as soon as the door unlocked and they were let in to his room. Rhys had called them halfway through the tattooing. Feyre could hear them cheering on the other end when he told them where they were. But Rhys refused to say a word about it: saying that everyone could wait until the entire thing was done. 

As Feyre now peered into the room, she saw the entire gang was sitting patiently on the lounge. They looked at her and Rhys eagerly. The smirk on Cassian’s face grew wider when Rhys glared at him. “He wouldn't let me see,” she held her hand up to show that she wore a glove. She turned to him now, waiting for his nod of approval to remove the glove. 

Her palm was still, just slightly, stinging from where the tattoo needle had been. But after receiving the nod, and removing the glove, the prickling sensation was all worth it. Where plain skin had been one moment, a navy blue patterned tattoo now took its place. In the centre of her palm was an eye looking directly at her. Surrounding it, swirls branching out into small bud-like flowers. One particular flower fell from the eye, to the middle of her wrist just like a tear might. But it opened up wide in bloom, and was coloured with ink of silver, almost like starlight. 

While Mor fussed over the details, squealing with delight at the change, exclaiming to the others how beautiful it was, Feyre looked over to Rhys with a soft smile on her face. “Thank you,” she mouthed, to which he replied with a shrug as if to say it was nothing. But, it was everything. Mor was right—it was a change, and a change that would be the best thing for her. 

“Did you squirm like Rhys did the first time he was inked?” Cassian asked with a grin on his face. Azriel threw his head back and bellowed out in laughter. The boys then began bickering between the three of them, causing Amren to come and stand by Feyre and Mor. 

Amren softly touched her arm, “It really is beautiful. It was a good idea to have him choose it.” She paused. “I’m sure he felt honoured in choosing something so permanent.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Feyre responded, holding open her palm once more and traced the lines with her eyes so carefully. Mor started joining in with the debate; something of Rhys saying his tattoo only hurt because it was in a sensitive area. Feyre turned to Amren, “But you are right. It is beautiful.”

Amren pulled the hem of her shirt up a little, revealing the side of her hip. “I had him choose this for me. Now I am quite certain he has a secret passion for art,” she said. Feyre frowned at the image, as it didn’t even seem like tattoo-quality. It was like watercolour paints had been used to pain the red ruby that sat in between the midst of grey smoke. 

She let the shirt fall back down, obscuring Feyre’s view. “Why a ruby?” 

Amren shrugged, “It’s a long story. I might share it with you one day.” She turned back to where the bickering had now turned into laughter. A smile spread to her face, it seemed so unnatural. “For now, it seems we’ve got ourselves a show.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't complain about short but sweet, right?


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no fanfiction-ing.......
> 
> Well, here it is. Feyre's sisters found her hotel hide out. Next chapter: you'll see them all frothing over the band.

The hotel felt like a cage, a prison just like her home with Tamlin. She returned to her room soon after laughing at the bickering that continued. Her stomach had begun to cramp with how much laughing she had done, and her cheeks ached from how wide her smile spread. The group wanted to practice together in the hall they were to play at soon. Feyre decided to give them privacy.

But there wasn’t much time alone. Before long there was a knock at her door, followed by a familiar voice she hadn’t expected to hear in a long time: “Feyre! Open up, we know you’re in there!”

“Elain?”

She reached the door in an instant, swinging it open to reveal Feyre’s second-eldest sister, with mimicking golden-brown hair to her own. On her head, she wore a crown made of flowers, one of her own making for sure. And in her hands was a bouquet of flower. 

“You should’ve seen the look on Nesta’s face after we went to see you. You see, I wanted to surprise you while we were in town, then you weren’t at home. Lucien couldn’t get rid of us, then Tamlin came home,” she paused. “His face when he saw us. He had the address, said you phoned him and he traced it.”

“He traced the phone call?”

Elain nodded, her curls bouncing atop her shoulders. “It’s okay, Nesta got it out of him and then smashed his phone.” Feyre blanched. “It’s not like he can’t just buy another. He’s rich, isn’t that why you were dating in the first place?”

Feyre opened her mouth, but found that she was speechless. Elain rolled her eyes and finally stepped inside, softly closing the door behind her and pulling her stiffened sister with her towards the couch. “Listen,” she said. “Feyre, look at me. Nesta will be here any moment and you know what she’s like. She will lecture you, so while I’m here—is that a tattoo?!”

They both turned their eyes down to Feyre’s open palm. The eye stared back at both of them, as if it were watching them. She closed her fist. “I guess I made some friends while I’ve been here,” she said. “They’ve been good to me.”

“How long were you planning on being here?”

Another knock sounded; soon really was soon for Nesta. Elain opened the door for her, ushering her inside. Her face was much more sharp than Elain’s—it seemed to always give her the resting-bitch look that most guys used as a pick-up-line. One which always failed, however.

“So, what’s the deal?” Nest got straight to the point, standing a little taller than her younger sisters. “What’d he do? I’m not fighting this fight for you, I just want you to leave him already. Come back home.”

“The latter is out of the picture,” Feyre groaned in response. “There is no chance that I will go back to live with you guys. It’s too cramped! And besides, I need my studio. It’s what I do for work now. When Tamlin settles down, we can sort it out like mature adults.”

Nesta snorted, her hand flung out to stop Elain from butting in: “Like he’ll ever grow up? No. We can go back now, get your things and leave. You’ll never need to look back.”

“Just because you’ve never been happy doesn’t mean you have to behave like this—controlling my life,” Feyre spat.

“Enough!” Elain raised her voice. She looked at Nesta with pleading eyes, “You promised you wouldn’t do this. And you,” she directed at Feyre, “said you would let us know everything that was going on in that house. You’ve not been in contact with us for a month, Feyre. So, we have every right to be angry.”

“You’re right, I know,” she sighed. “Do you want to sit?” She gestured to the couches. It wasn’t much, but it was all she could offer right now. When they were settled, she’d have to tell them all the details of the fight. And she’d be embarrassed with how petty it had been. 

But… anything for family, right?

* * *

Hours later into the night, along with a bottle of wine that Elain had kept to herself, it was just Nesta and Feyre awake. Feyre had begun packing away empty pizza boxes, and the take-out Chinese noodles—she had been craving. She pulled a blanket over the couch that Elain was sprawled over, and sighed. 

“I really am sorry for losing contact, you know,” she said quietly to her other, brooding, sister. “He keeps me busy from the outside world. There are times that I even forget about my painting.”

“We know,” Nesta stated matter-of-factly. “Hence why he needs to go. I’m not saying this as your older sister, but as a friend. That of which you seem to have lacked ever since moving in with the tool.” Feyre bit her lip, hiding back the smile.

“He really has messed me up,” she accepted. “But the people I met—they seem nice. Included me into their lives so quickly. It is almost as if they’ve known me forever.”

“If they’re a band, they’ll move on.” Nesta shrugged, then piped up: “Are they any good? Perhaps they can entertain me tonight.”

“I think they’d be sleeping tonight. Tomorrow they will be playing. You both can stay—stay here I mean, until then?” As much as the two brought her trouble, especially when they were younger, she missed being with her sisters. 

Nesta’s hard face relaxed a little. A small smile appeared on her lips, “That would be nice. Shot gun the bed, though.” She shot up quicker than Feyre could register what her sister had said, being too busy finding solace in that rare smile. 

She slept that night on the small recliner, fingering the tattoo as she slowly let herself fall asleep.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, no editing. Probably mistakes. Not much happens in this chapter.

It almost seemed as if last night never happened. Her room was empty of life, yet, the mess was still there. The wine bottle, empty, sat on the kitchen counter along with empty take-out boxes. Feyre frowned, pushing herself to her feet. Even looking around… had she dreamt that her sisters came for her? Since when did she dream good things about Nesta? But, then again, it seemed more realistic to dream it than for it to actually happen. 

Her stomach growled, her hand stung. So the tattoo was real, as real as her hunger. 

She checked the clock—if she were back at home, with Tamlin, he’d have growled that she slept in. He’d say it was bad for her health. He’d complain. She’d ignore every word while pondering on another world entirely. 

Feyre jumped in the shower for several moments. She stood underneath the searing heat, breathing slowly in and out before it became unbearable. She turned the cold water up and washed herself. She felt somewhat lonely in the cramped square that they called a shower. She had been used to extravagance for quite some time now. 

How long had it been since she was home with her widowed Father? Her sisters? They’d both met guys, left them, flitted to the next. But Feyre left as soon as the opportunity arose. She let Tamlin take care of her. Or, at least, that’s what she thought he was doing. But looking down at herself now, he’d underfed her.

He’d changed her for the better, and not once had she thought it wrong of him. 

How strange, she thought, to feel lonely but not miss him one bit.

* * *

She stepped out into the hallway. It was eerily quiet. Had her neighbours had a long night? She shrugged, turning the opposite way. She didn’t get far before someone caught up with her, and she felt a light touch on her elbow. It was Amren, a gentle smile spread on her face.

“We met your sisters early this morning,” Amren said. Feyre’s brows rose—it hadn’t been a dream, then. “They left your room when we were just arriving back. The boys were shocked to see how similar you all look.” 

Feyre snorted. She’d disagree. “Where were they headed?” 

“Shopping, food,” Amren shrugged. “I didn’t stop to chat with the others. Mor and I said our hellos and went straight to bed.” She paused. “I’m not sure how long the others were out for… they’re all still sleeping.” 

Feyre nodded, “That seems about right. Elain likes to talk.”

“Elain?” Amren frowned. “Nesta talked the most. Though, if you call arguments and—well, anything harsh directed towards Cassian. Elain on the other hand was full of laughter before we left.”

“Care to talk more about this over breakfast?” Feyre suggested. Perhaps her sister had met her match. She wished she had been woken up to watch such an event. 

* * *

It wasn’t hard to find her sisters. They were where the food was—city food. Something they hadn’t had in a while, as they lived in the cusp between suburban and country. They often lived off of whatever their Father bought and made within the kitchen. Nothing so simple as a bagel packed with everything they could ever imagine.

“So you’ve both been busy,” Feyre said as they came around the corner of the booth. Amren slid in beside Elain, while Feyre sat next to the eldest sister.

“Guess who had to hold all the bags,” Nesta rolled her eyes. “We bought some clothes to last us. Who knows when we’ll be visiting the city again. And, not to mention, you know there aren’t many shops near Father’s house.” 

“We did buy him some clothes too. He needs a new wardrobe,” Elain said with a mouthful of food. After she swallowed, she nodded towards Feyre and Amren, “Are you ordering?”

A waitress stood beside the table, pen and paper in hand. “Whatever they’re having,” Feyre said. Amren nodded. “Two of what they’re having,” she smiled.

“Before you ask,” Nesta began, “We were up early and you looked as if you had been knocked out. I would have woken you but Elain said to let you rest. And besides, you did look like you needed it.”

“And how did you find the neighbours?” Feyre asked, noticing the slight smirk coming from Amren’s face. “I heard you bumped into them.”

“They were all quite lovely,” Elain chirped in before Nesta could say anything.

“Except for the guys,” she waved her hands. “You and Mor are both lovely,” Nesta gestured to Amren, then. 

“You don’t mean all the guys,” Elain rolled her eyes. “Rhysand was nice enough, I like him.” She shot a pointed glance towards Feyre—meaning, date him date him date him date him.

“No, he’s got as much of an ego as Tamlin does,” Nesta groaned. 

“Worse, actually,” Amren laughed. “We knew Tamlin way back. When we were in school. Rhys knew him the best, and, well… I guess Rhys won at the ego-contest.”

Feyre groaned into her hands. It was hard enough learning how to deal with Tamlin’s ego, and to now be told that Rhys also had one—one that was worse? If she ever saw potential in this guy, even as a rebound, all hope had just diminished. 

“See?” Nesta nudged her in the arm sharp enough to make Feyre jolt and rub the resulting sore spot. “Bad news. No offence, Amren.” 

“None taken,” she replied. “Though, Rhys does seem taken by your sister. No different to how Cassian took a liking to you. He enjoys a fight, which I’m sure you gave him.”

And all eyes turned to Nesta, who ducked her head. But that didn’t help covering the fact she had blushed. “He was too rude and confronting,” she said with a hmph. “I think from the moment he saw me he just began to sent flirtatious comments my way—and none of them were remotely classy.” 

“Right,” Elain snorted. “Because _you’re_ classy.” Feyre had to hide her smile, else Nesta nudge her harshly once again. 

“Believe me, give him a chance and he’ll drop the front he puts up,” Amren said.

Nesta shook her head, “Who ever said that I’ll be giving him a chance?” 

“Well, we’ve booked our own room on the floor below Feyre for a week,” Elain suggested, one eyebrow highly arched. “A week can be a long time.” 

“Yeah,” Nesta sighed. “A long time in hell.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a late update! Enjoy this little snippet. My writing style has changed over the year, so I hope it's easy enough to get back into the story. Expect an awesome scene for next chapter. *cough* the band plays live *cough*

The day was spent with more shopping, this time it was necessities. While Nesta stayed at the hotel, discussing the Tamlin issue with their Father, Elain and Feyre headed to the busy city streets. Feyre paid no mind to the stores they visited, as Elain was the decorator. She was looking for a new kitchen instalment for their Father’s house—something he needed dearly at this point.

“I have to ask about those photos we saw from the other night,” Elain said as she ran a finger along a marble counter top. “I believe there was beer bottles involved. A lot of beer bottles.”

Feyre grimaced. “I know. I told them I don’t drink.”

“That is so not an excuse. Either way, I would have loved an invite,” she continued. “I haven’t had a night of fun for you in a long time. If it takes you drinking, I want in next time.”

“Next time is tonight. But I am so not drinking.” Feyre couldn’t imagine being drunk while swooning at Rhys on the stage. She pinched herself for even thinking such a thing. She’d told Tamlin that nothing would happen between them. But even he had said that Rhys was charming… 

“Feyre! Hello?” Elain clicked her fingers in Feyre’s face. She was staring at a display sink. “What are you thinking about? Or should I say who, your face is turning red.” 

“I just wish it were easy to talk to Tamlin,” Feyre sighed. Elain nodded, linking her arm with her sister as she pulled her out of the store. They’d gone through at least three kitchen stores now. “Can we go back to the hotel yet?”

“Yes, after one more thing.” Elain had a look of determination on her face as she lead Feyre down the street. Though Feyre knew this city, lived in it for such a long time, she had no idea where Elain was so determined to go to. “Remind me what kind of band The Night Court is?”

“Oh, um… heavy on the drums?” Feyre shrugged. She had no taste for music as much as physical art. But her sisters did. Elain looked to her with one raised eyebrow. “Okay, uh, a little upbeat. No screaming?”

“You’re no help at all.”

“Elain, where are you taking me?” At least Feyre chose to wear decent walking shoes today. Her feet would have been aching otherwise. Elian suddenly pulled them into a small alleyway, and stopped immediately in front of the first door they came to. “This isn’t weird at all.”

“I love this place,” Elain said as she tugged open the rusty, metal door. Inside was dark with neon lights highlighting the ceiling. At first glance, Feyre expected there to be scantily-dressed women dancing on poles. At a second glance, she saw rows of clothing on the wall. There were two women at the counter conversing, but they stopped immediately as they spotted the two customers.

“Our favourite customer!” the first one said. The second followed her around the corner. As they came closer, Feyre realised they were twins. “Elain, so nice to see you again. It has been much too long.”

“Feyre, meet Nuala and her twin sister Cerridwen,” Elain embraced the dark twins. Feyre was admiring how their dark skin glowed under their neon lights. Their fashion taste was also to die for. They wore matching slim-fitting, black dresses that touched the floor. For colour, they wore gold-plated arm bands, chokers and a bodice that sat atop the dress. 

“What occasion is it this time?” Cerridwen, the second sister, asked. “A new boyfriend, a bridal party that you want to outshine in…” Feyre rolled her eyes, so this was where she continued to out-do everyone with her clothing. 

“It’s for my sister, actually. There is a band playing tonight,” Elain explained.

“The Night Court?” Nuala asked. Feyre and her sister nodded. “We have you covered, come right this way.” Feyre was hastily shoved into a small dressing room, where soon a variety of outfits were shoved her way. While she tried them on, she heard the twins gush over the band. 

Feyre had to cover her mouth as she laughed to herself. She felt giddy, as she was lucky enough to be neighbours with them in a hotel. What better luck did she have this week?


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left the best bit out for next chapter.
> 
> Warning: A slight nsfw / 18+ comment below. (Yes these will be on all chapters from now on for my own sake, and for readers who are a little younger.)

Feyre fidgeted in her room as she stood in front of the full-body length mirror. The dress accentuated her soft curves and illuminated her skin in a way it hadn’t before. Back in the dressing room, Nuala had explained that The Night Court would be playing in lighting much the same as their shop. Feyre praised Elain for her idea of bringing her there. 

Now she was alone in her room, while Nesta was trying as hard as possible to keep Rhys and the band at bay. They wanted Feyre’s dress to be a secret. As Elain put it plainly: “It will make him fall for you in every way possible.” She mimicked falling to her knees, and looked up at Feyre with sensual eyes. Feyre shut the door on her and groaned. Elain was the worst at matchmaking. She laughed her head off on the other side of the door. 

“Can I come out now?” Feyre shouted through the door, as she heard the band departing. It was two hours before Feyre and her sisters had to leave, but they intended on visiting a bar for some drinks and snacks before heading to the gig.

The door swung open to reveal her sisters. They both began gushing at the dress themselves, now that Feyre had finished with her hair and make up. “You’ve added years of maturity to your look,” Nesta commented.

“But still incredibly desirable,” Elain was quick to say when Feyre’s eyes narrowed. Nesta was just upset that she didn’t get to visit this store for an outfit like her youngest sister. Instead, Elain and Nesta wore their own clothes they had purchased earlier this morning, which were plain compared to Feyre’s.

Feyre turned back to the mirror. The dress showcased most of her body. Her breasts were covered by two thin, glistening straps that met down at her navel and fell down between her legs. The material was connected at her hips by two straps of thin golden chains. Though she felt bare, she had no care for what eyes would be on her tonight. 

Then, she had a sudden urge to call Tamlin. 

“Meet you outside?” She said to her sisters after the thought.

* * *

“Let’s go!” Feyre exclaimed as she met them out in the brisk night. 

Nesta was the first to ask, “What took you so long?”

Feyre shrugged as she slipped her phone into the clutch she carried. “I just had a couple of things to do first. I’m starved.” 

Elain rolled her eyes at her sisters and waved over an oncoming taxi. “To the Velaris cocktail bar,” she asked after they piled in. The bar was on the other side of the city, so on the drive the sisters talked about their Father. He’d been off and on business trips constantly, unable to keep his house in good condition.

“That’s the only reason you guys stay there,” Feyre said. “Why don’t you just hire a maid for him and get your own place in the city? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Elain should have, if it weren’t for her own wretched man.” Nesta shook her head in anger. Their sister, the most successful one with men, had been having her own relationship problems lately. Her fiancée began complaining about Elain’s change in career, he said it didn’t match his own life. 

Elain shrugged, “We just need to negotiate, work out a life plan. He’s perfect for me.”

“Honestly,” Feyre snorted. “I’d bet Lucien would be better for you. His eyes are for you and only you. Your man Grayson… last I remember he would be looking at anything and everything that wasn’t you. Especially after your last runway show.”

Elain merely looked out the window, offering no reply on that topic. “Nesta is the one who should be out and about. You haven’t even found a proper job yet,” Elain turned the conversation to the more stern sister. 

“Because nothing works well with me.”

“You mean no one works well with you, because you like to boss them around,” Feyre laughed. 

They paid the taxi driver the fare, and headed into the dimly lit bar. The sign ‘Velaris’ was lit up in purple and pink. Though there was ropes blocking off a section for a line, there was no one in it. The three sisters wandered straight inside. 

* * *

Two hours, two jugs of sangria and two cocktails each, the sisters left the bar for The Night Court’s performance two doors down. Though there hadn’t been a line up for Velaris, there was for The Night Court. Elain, walking straighter than the other two, caught a glimpse of Nuala and Cerridwen in the line. They were able to slip in with them, claiming that they had this spot for ages. 

“Will we have to make sure you get home okay?” Nuala sighed. She’d been with Elain many times on a night out, most had never ended the best if there wasn’t a sober friend around. 

Nesta shook her head. “This will wear off me in an hour. Plus Feyre knows the band. I’m sure they’ll take care of us.” Though her face was flushed, and her speech slightly slurred, Feyre and Elain trusted her to soon enough take control of the situation if anything went sour.

“Is that by any chance why you needed a special dress for tonight?” Cerridwen waggled her eyebrows and winked at Feyre. “Which one are we dazzling?”

“None!” Feyre put up her hands. “We only met a couple of nights ago.”

“That’s plenty of time to fall for one of them. I had the biggest crush on Cassian once,” Nuala looked up dreamily. “But then I fell happily in love with my girlfriend.” 

“And I still have a crush on all of them,” Cerridwen laughed. “They are somehow outrageously beautiful. I can never put a finger on how they do it.”

“So which is the lucky one for you?” Nuala nudged Feyre with her elbow.

Feyre bit her bottom lip, “Uh… Rhys, I guess. He’s been quite kind.”

“Kind? Is that all you can say about him?!” Elain pulled her phone out of her purse, and immediately brought up the photos that were taken the first night Feyre met them. She couldn’t remember them being taken. “They hit it off. And the feelings are mutual.”

Feyre felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. But the twins merely ooh-ed and aah-ed their jealousy over how close she seemed to be with the group. By the time they had flipped through all of the photos—some requiring deletion immediately—they paid entry and were let into the small staged area. 

As they had twenty minutes till the band came on the twins bid their farewell for the moment, as they retreated for drinks. The sisters, on the other hand, found a small booth to the side of the stage. It would be the perfect spot for gazing up at the drummer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I write any more:
> 
> —Do people want anything specific?  
> —I'm not going to write smut, but I can do something a little less if enough want?  
> —What do I do with Elain?!? I don't ship her with anyone but herself, so its up to majority as the writing continues.


	11. Chapter Eleven

“Stop messing with the dress,” Elain playfully smacked Feyre’s hand away from the revealing fabric. “It looks fine.”

“I feel so out of place,” Feyre moaned. She didn’t wear clothes like this often, and once she realised the fans of the Night Court were wearing very different clothing to her, she became entirely self conscious. “What if I slip out of it?”

Elain rolled her eyes. “Wasn’t that the point? To get his attention?”

“The dress is attention enough, a malfunction is enough to stop the show,” Nesta snorted. Before either of her sisters could respond, those who stood beside the stage began shouting their enthusiasm for Mor, who had just run onto the stage. Though the bar wasn’t as large as a stadium, the sound that erupted from the fans was just as loud.

Mor wore a giant smile, winking at some of the crowd. Her eyes found Feyre’s and she looked smug before turning back to the main crowd. “What a noise,” she exclaimed in the microphone. “Can we give it up for our ethereal favourite—Amren?”

The crowd went wild once more as Amren strolled onto the stage gracefully. Both the women wore tight fitting, black leather pants, and tops that revealed their midriffs. Both girls had matching tattoos surrounding their belly-buttons—a half moon on one side and three stars on the other. Feyre was surprised she’d never seen it before.

Mor continued, “And of course on bass and guitar we have Cassian and Azriel.” The next two followed each other out, clinging onto their instruments as if they were their pride and joy. Both boys and girls in the crowd swooned at the men on stage. Feyre guessed it was the muscle tees that they wore. She stole a glance at Nesta, who had busied herself with the skirt of her dress. 

“And finally,” Mor quickly winked towards Feyre. “On drums, your favourite bad boy—Rhysand!” Feyre wasn’t surprised when her ear drums felt like they would burst. Nor was she surprised that she stood up and joined in with the cheering. She felt like she was much younger, a teenager at her favourite boy band concert. She heard Elain chuckling beside her. 

“Let’s get to it then,” Mor announced. Immediately, the loud music that didn’t sound like much in the hotel now came to life in front of Feyre. Rhys sat down at his drum set, not once taking his eyes off of it, and lead the song. Feyre let Nesta tug her back down in her seat.

“Did you notice how they all looked at you, except him?” She said to Feyre. “I wonder why.”

Feyre frowned. She hadn’t thought about it till now. She hadn’t even been bothered by it… but if her older sister had a problem with it, perhaps she should too. Feyre shook her head, “Maybe he takes his music very seriously. In a different way to them. Let’s just enjoy it for now.” 

Nesta shrugged as she stood up and headed towards the bar. Back on the stage, Cassian couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, even with her back turned towards him. Though his eyes were drifting, his playing was still magnificent, and he didn’t miss a beat. His appearance on the stage was much different to what Feyre knew him as. He was cool on stage, much more laid back than his joking self. Mor was perhaps the only one who continued her liveliness. She bounced around as she sung and shouted to the crowd. She urged them to join in, shoving the microphone in their direction. 

Once in a while, Feyre swore she snuck looks towards Elain, who blushed every time. She didn’t think much of it at that point though, as her own eyes watched Rhys as he focused on keeping the beat for each song that they played. 

About five songs in, Nesta’s comment bore into Feyre’s head. She excused herself to the bathroom, that was on the other side of the room. She made a show of herself walking off, ensuring her hips swung just enough, and that when she flicked her hair away from her breasts, they were showcased for all to see. She hoped it was enough, but didn’t dare to take a peak at him. She sauntered into the privacy of a cubical and let out a deep sigh.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late! I hope you enjoy this short chapter.

Feyre put the toilet seat down, and sat on it. She put her head in her hands and sighed. The door opened, letting a the music into the bathroom. Feyre could see two girls through the cracks of her cubicle. They were a little more covered up, but still looked at though they were wanting attention. 

“I just want to be able to talk to him, you know?” One was gushing as they reached the mirrors. 

“I feel you,” the other responded. “But what would you say? I’d just faint on the spot.” They both laughed. 

Feyre wanted to get out of the cubicle, but she also wanted to know which person they were speaking about. They were all as equally handsome in their own right. Perhaps, she thought, she could find out some gossip about Rhys. She felt bad just thinking about it, but if he wouldn't even look at her after the constant flirting over the past few days… and the effort she put into her dress!

She stood up and walked out from the cubicle, heading the one of the free mirrors in between the girls. As she washed her hands, she joined into their conversation. “I think all the guys would faint on the spot seeing either one of you girls,” she sighed. “You both look amazing tonight.” 

One of the girls to her left went a light shade of red, her smile widened. “You’re telling us that we look good?” The other girl said, clearly shocked. “You should hear how many people are wanting to give you compliments on this get up.” She gestured to Feyre’s dress.

“Where did you get it from?” The blushing girl said, her eyes never strayed from the mirror. Feyre wished that Rhys acted like the girl was. 

“Oh, these friends of my sister called Cerridwen and Nuala,” Feyre replied. She opened up her purse and pulled out her lipstick so that she could touch it up. “They have a store in this weird alleyway.”

“I love their shop!” They both said in unison, followed by a burst of laughter. The girl on her right grabbed Feyre’s arm and exclaimed, “You’re really lucky they helped you out. Is there a band member you were hoping to impress tonight?”

“Uh,” Feyre shrugged. Then she nodded slowly. “I guess, but… there are so many girls and boys out there that are equally as gorgeous.”

“Well, keep your hopes up. We’ve been following The Night Court around for a while now. We’re sure you’ll get the eyes of one of them.” She patted her arm and headed out the door with her still-blushing friend. They both waved their good-byes. 

Feyre turned back to the mirror and inspected herself. She looked good. No, she looked gorgeous. She should be taking Rhys’ breath away. That must be the reason to why he wasn’t looking at her. He couldn’t get distracted from his music. She tapped her lips with a finger, checking if the lipstick was dried. 

With a quick nod, she headed back out into the crowd, only now noticing how many people couldn’t take their eyes off of her. When she looked up to the stage, she finally saw one distinct pair of eyes locking with hers. She smirked and looked forward to her sisters.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

The music came to a slow stop, but the crowd began cheering for an encore. Mor threw her hands up, screaming loud enough without the microphone: “What do you want?” The crowd loved every bit of it. Even with just Mor on the stage, she owned every single one of them. Feyre was enthralled. She sat beside Nesta, who was gulping down water, an attempt to stop the hangover that would come tomorrow. 

Elain, on the other hand, was somewhere in the centre of the crowd joining in with their rhythmic shouts. “We should video her,” Nesta was saying. “When she’s sober, she won’t believe that she was falling head over heels for a female lead singer.” 

Feyre snorted. “And should I video Cassian and you?” 

Nesta rolled her eyes and stood up. She headed for the bar. Feyre sat alone, staring up at Mor with the biggest smile on her face. Mor finally called out the band members on stage once again. “We hope that you’ve enjoyed your night. We are The Night Court, and this song is called Feyre, Darling.”

Feyre blanched. This song was called what?! She up-ended her full glass of cider. She figured she needed it as her eyes looked directly to the drummer. Rhys looked straight back at her and winked. Feyre felt her cheeks glow. She felt every part of her body warm. And then the song begun. 

* * *

Mor was leaning against the bar with a full glass of wine in her hand. Elain looked up at her with the largest heart eyes Feyre had ever seen on her sister. She was at least a head shorter, which Mor seemed to be using to her advantage. Her manicured fingers brushed up and down Elain’s bare arm. Feyre swore her sister looked like she was about to faint. 

Feyre still sat alone, her other sister no where to be seen. Azriel and Cassian were both lounging together with girls continuously flocking them for photos and autographs. Feyre spotted the girls from the bathroom eagerly holding out their phones for a selfie with the two. But both Amren and Rhys had still not made an appearance. Feyre sipped her new glass of cider slowly. 

She stood up as the flock of girls left the other two men. But as she did so, she finally found what she was looking for. Rhys came out of a small back door, straightening his dishevelled shirt. His eyes instantly found Feyre’s. They lit up as he looked at her—up and down, she noted. Her face flushed and she found it difficult to stand. She felt like she might need to cover up. 

“You came,” he said as he made his way to her. After she didn’t take a step towards him, he figured she was stunned. “And so did your sisters.” He glanced over to the bar, where Mor threw her head back and laughed at something Elain said. 

“Of course I came,” Feyre answered in a hushed voice. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“And you dressed up.” Feyre’s heart skipped a beat. “Would you like to get some food with me?” Feyre nodded, her mouth hanging open with no words coming out. She took the arm that he offered. He so warm that she had an urge to shove her body up against his. No—that was the drinks talking. She shrugged off the chill as they walked out into the open air.

“Feyre, you going somewhere?” It was Nesta.

“Oh,” Feyre stammered, finally finding her voice. “Yes. We’re getting food. Elain is still inside.”

“So is Cassian!” Rhys smiled at her. 

Nesta sat back down on the bench and pulled out her phone. “I’m fine out here. Have fun.”

As they strolled towards the few small places still open and serving food, Feyre noted, “You wrote a song for me.”

“It was Mor’s idea, really,” he shrugged. “I helped with the lyrics a little.”

“But you picked the song name?” He nodded. “It was really sweet. No ones every done something like that for me.” 

Rhys wanted to ask if Tamlin had. He was surprised that he hadn’t, and still managed to get a girlfriend like Feyre. “Is there any type of food that you want?” He changed the subject.

“Actually, maybe we’ll just go home,” she suggested. It was late, after all. And, they had stocked up on food. Rhys looked down at her, puzzled. “We can sit down and watch a movie? Fall asleep on the couch?”

In her head, she knew that was definitely not what she wanted. With her spare hand, she pinched herself. _Get a grip!_ Why was she nervous all of a sudden? “Sounds good, I am exhausted,” he replied. “I don’t know how the others do it.” He flung his hand out to the side of the road, calling over a free taxi. “Home it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget that you can leave me any suggestions either here in the comments or on my tumblr: raven-reyes-reads.tumblr.com 
> 
> Check out other fandoms I follow. I am always up for new fic ideas if people will read them :)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not smut, but close enough.

Feyre was a nervous wreck on the inside as she stood beside Rhys in the elevator. She triple-checked her reflection to ensure she wasn’t turning red. She _felt_ flustered. But she did not look it whatsoever. She still looked... amazing.

“But that’s how we all came together,” he said, continuing on with his story although Feyre was clearly agitated. “It was all Amren.” Feyre flexed her hands and fingers, soothing her anxiousness.

“You seem to think highly of her,” Feyre replied, eyes returning to the mirrored walls again.

Rhys laughed, turning to face her. “It’s not just me.” But that conversation was long over as their eyes met. Feyre felt the world shrinking on her. The mirrored walls started closing in, just as Rhys hand lifted up to touch her face. As if someone else controlled her body, her head lifted so that his hand fit perfectly on her jawline. His thumb traced down till it reached her chin. His eyes followed it down to her lips and Feyre found him leaning down to her. Her eyes closed, anticipating what came next.

Which was hardly a kiss but a brush on the lips, as the elevator stopped abruptly and the lights flickered off. Though Rhys’ hand left her face and he stepped away from her, Feyre was still dazed from the brief touch. When she blinked herself out of it, she saw he was standing by the doors, hands pressing buttons.

“I think they lost power,” he murmured. The sound of his voice, hushed and low, made her heart flutter. 

Feyre had to cough before she could reply, “is there an emergency button? A camera?” She tore her eyes away from him and looked to the corners of the elevator. There was one camera, but no light flashing that showed that it was working. “That’s a no,” she pointed up. 

“Well then,” Rhys shrugged. “I’ve pressed the emergency button at least ten times now. Maybe eleven will do the trick.” He made a point of pressing in the obtuse red button slowly. They both heard it click, but nothing happened.

“I guess we’re stuck until someone notices,” Feyre sighed. She felt lucky that she had gone to the bathroom before leaving the bar. 

Rhys’ lips twitched into a smile. “I guess so.” In the next moment, much to Feyre’s surprise, his hand was back on the side of her face while another slipped around her waist and pulled her close to him. “Is this…” he trailed off, as Feyre reached up to pull him down towards her. It was confirmation enough for him. 

She felt his grip tighten a little on her waist as he finally kissed her. She felt his fingers slip underneath the fabric of her dress. His fingers caressed against her bare skin, sending shivers all over her body. She couldn’t remember the last time she had someone softly touch her like this—while being a passionate kisser. 

She pushed against him harder, gripping at his shirt with her fists. His second hand reached down to her thighs, picking her up and pushing her back against the wall. She wrapped her legs around him. His hands shifted up higher—slowly, in case she objected to the touch. She didn’t.

Rhys bit on her bottom lip, and then let his lips trail down to her neck. Feyre tilted her head upwards, releasing a long and happy sigh. It sounded partially like a moan, egging Rhys on to continue as he pleased. He smiled against her neck as his teeth grazed against her sensitive skin. Then, he took his head away for a moment to look at her face. She opened her eyes to look back at him in the dark room. As if someone was watching them, the lights flickered on and the elevator began moving for a few seconds before stopping again. Rhys let her down to the floor. She stumbled as she attempted to get her footing, but Rhys kept a firm hand on her back for stability. 

The door opened, and they readied themselves to head back to their room. But the hallway wasn’t empty. In front of them stood a tired looking Lucien. His once glowing red hair now looking dishevelled. 

“Oh god, Feyre,” he groaned, hand covering his eyes.

“Hi, Lucien,” was all Feyre managed to say.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short scene with Lucien. You might be seeing more of him :)

Feyre sipped casually on a glass of water. Her legs were crossed delicately, as if she had been doing nothing out of the ordinary—nothing _wrong_. Rhys had given her a blanket to wrap around herself, not because it was cold, but because Lucien couldn’t look at her. 

“It’s as if you’ve never seen me dressed up before,” Feyre said as she placed her glass down on the table.

“More like dressed _down_ ,” Lucien mumbled. “Underdressed. Underdressed on the same night you officially break up with Tamlin.” 

“You did what?” Rhys swooped into the room with eyebrows raised. He wasn’t necessarily surprised, Feyre didn’t seem the type to be disloyal even when her partner was horrible to her. 

Feyre rolled her eyes. “You knew it was coming,” she said. “It might have been the first time we actually agreed on something. I mean, he didn’t want to break up. He suggested a break. I suggested… forever.” 

“And then I have to see, well, uh,” Lucien stammered. “Whatever that was.”

“I had a good night,” Feyre shrugged. “Why let Tamlin ruin it. _Again_.”

“Tamlin doesn’t know anything else,” Lucien argued. 

“That isn’t my fault.” 

Lucien ran a hand through his tattered hair. He and Tamlin had been growing it out for some time now. Feyre never liked it much, but she never said a word against it. Lucien let out a sigh and nodded in agreement, “I know it’s not your fault.”

“How are you, Lucien?” She asked. 

“Honestly?” He started to laugh. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen this guy. I’m shocked at how much he’s grown.” He gestured to Rhys, who stood with a goofy grin on his face. “It was never me who had anything against them,” he said, returning his gaze to Feyre. “Tamlin was…”

“An ass,” Rhys finished the sentence for him. “He was an ass. You can say it. I say it about Cassian _all_ the time.” He finally took a seat beside Feyre, but didn’t keep much of a distance between them. He even placed his hand ever so gently on Feyre’s thigh. Lucien kept his eyes high. 

“If that’s how we’re putting it, then yes. That’s what he was,” he replied.

“And still is, at least to some of us,” Feyre said. “What brings you here, anyway? Have you come to whisk me back to that place?”

“Well,” Lucien mulled the question over. He was, but at the same time it wasn’t his place. “I guess that’s what Tamlin wanted me to do. When I got to your floor, I realised that it had nothing to do with me. If you don’t want to be in the relationship, that’s fine. He can’t force you. I can’t force you. I don’t want to see you unhappy, Feyre.” He paused. “I’ve seen you unhappy for too long.”

Feyre never knew that Lucien cared so much about her happiness. She thought he was just another Tamlin. But thinking it over, he had done a lot for her. He always seemed to know when they had a fight. He’d come over to bring Feyre food, new art supplies, a book. Then he’d take Tamlin out, so Feyre had the house to herself. She never really thought so deeply into it. But it did make sense.

“Thank you,” she finally said, unsure of what she should be saying. “You’re too good to me. And, you know, you’re too good for Tamlin.”

“He’s family to me,” Lucien shrugged.

Feyre shook her head, “But family shouldn’t treat you like your inferior to them. That’s what Tamlin does. He did it to me, and he does it to you. You can leave, Lucien. You don’t have to stay by his side.”

“That’s what I was going to call you about, until I lost my phone. I booked a room on the first floor, do you mind me intruding on your hiding out?”

“It’s not even holiday season and this hotel is rolling in the cash,” Rhys laughed. 

“Of course I don’t mind,” Feyre smiled. “My sisters though…”

As if on cue, the door to Rhys’ room opened to reveal Nesta and Cassian bickering about something or rather. Nesta stopped dead when she saw Lucien. She pointed at him and said in a stern voice, “ _You_.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll better love me.

The bar had cleared out an hour ago. Amren was taking in in the music that the DJ played, she stood alone except for a few couples on the dance floor with their faces planted together. Her arms were outstretched, her head tilted back and her eyes closed. It was as if she were standing in the rain and letting it pour all over her. At least that’s what Mor joked about as she waved over the bartender for one last drink.

“We’ll have two red wines,” she said. “Your best or your worst.”

“Is wine really good to mix with… well, everything else we’ve had tonight?” Elain frowned.

“Oh, honey, no,” Mor threw her head back with a burst of laughter. “But what’s truly stopping us?” Her fingers drew small circles on Elain’s palm. It sent chills all through Elain’s body, being touched like this. It was so soft and gentle, it was the opposite of being grabbed at as if you couldn’t get enough of someone. This was… this was touching someone as if you knew you’d always have them at your fingertips. Just thinking Mor might’ve thought that brought a red flush to Elain’s face.

“Will Amren come home with us when we leave?” Elain quickly changed the subject, raising her eyes from her hand to Mor’s heart eyes.

Mor nodded, sending a quick thanks to the bartender as he came back with two glasses of a red that definitely looked the same as all others, but smelt a tad sweet. “We’ll have to drag her out, but yes,” she replied. “Amren is a free spirit when she drinks. It’s always hard to cage them. But caging Amren on nights like these is my forte.”

“And what are you when you drink?” Elain couldn’t help but bring the subject back to Mor. She was so invested in her. She had been for what seemed like hours now. How long had it been since Nesta left angrily with Cassian and Azriel on her heels? And Feyre, where had she gone? Elain was sure she’d been here talking to this beautiful woman since the band stopped playing. Neither of them could seem to break apart from each other.

Mor took a large sip of her wine before shrugging. “I guess I’m just fun to be around.” She paused and thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I’m always fun to be around. I guess I just get more interesting when I drink. That is, if I can’t hold my liquor.”

“I’ve noticed you hold it well,” Elain nodded. “But what will happen if you stop leaning on the bar and start trying to walk?” It was a challenge, one which Mor had to take. She quickly, and disgustingly, up-ended her glass of wine and winked at Elain before heading over to Amren. 

Though her eyesight was slightly blurred, she appeared fine. She managed to calm Amren down and bring her to the bar singlehandedly. “Amren, this is Elain, Feyre’s sister. We have to get her home, she thinks Feyre is in trouble with Rhys,” Mor told the girl in a serious tone. 

“I worry she might have had too much to drink,” Elain nodded, taking Mor’s hint. “But we don’t want to leave you here alone. Would you come with us?”

“I swear on my life if Rhys does one bad thing to that girl,” Amren’s words slurred. It was hardly a sentence if you couldn’t tell the words apart from one another. Fortunately, they had now made Amren talk about something more important than dancing and they were able to get her outside and into a taxi that was sitting idle on the side of the road. 

Mor paid the driver extra up front, seeing as he had to listen to Amren talking garbage about her history of beating men up. She felt sorry for the man who cringed at every talk of violence, but the girls weren’t sure how to shut her up. Instead, they found each others fingertips. Elain’s face heated up and she hesitated. Mor, on the other hand, slipped her fingers through Elain’s for the rest of the car trip.

They each looked out their own windows with a wide, goofy smile on their face.

“And _that’s_ when the police showed up. But how in the hell was I supposed to explain that the raw heart I had in my fist wasn’t his?!”

*

“You’re the coward who can’t tell Tamlin when enough is enough!” Nesta screamed. “He brings a girl home and you’re just happy that you don’t have to deal with him anymore. And don’t you lie to yourself, you were happy when she was getting talked down to instead of you. At least you’re as big as him, Feyre is tiny! She would have had no luck if she stood up for herself.” 

Lucien had a blank look on his face. He’d tried responding calmly, but to no use. Nesta had been going on for at least ten minutes now. Her story continued about how he let a girl get pulled into a world that wasn’t for her. Even Feyre and Rhys sat in silence. Feyre’s eyes were wide as she stared at the ground. She hadn’t ever thought that Nesta cared enough about her—actually, in the past few days she _had_ noticed Nesta cared enough to come see her.

But enough was enough, Nesta had her fun yelling. There were more important things going on. She looked up and said, “Where is Elain?”

That shut Nesta up. “Over here!” A chirpy voice came from behind Cassian and Azriel who stood awkwardly in the doorway. Cassian seemed the most shocked from what he had been hearing. He shuffled out the way to let Elain through first, and then Amren followed by Mor. Mor headed straight for the bedrooms with Amren on her tail. She looked like she’d been drinking more than she should have.

“Oh, Lucien,” Elain frowned. “Hi.”

“Your sister had ten minutes, would you like some time to yell at me too?” Lucien sighed. “We haven’t got all night so give me your worst.”

“Well,” Elain pursed her lips. “I guess I hope you’ve come to your senses and left Tamlin. He never deserved you.”

“You say that as if I were his boyfriend.”

“Weren’t you?” Elain said. She said it so seriously that at least four other people in the room burst into laughter. It was enough to make even Nesta join in, followed by Lucien himself. “I’m kidding. He didn’t deserve you as a friend. You did all you could to make him a better person. No need to kick yourself for failing.”

“Thank you,” Lucien replied. “And Nesta, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t protect your sister as much as I could have. I came here to apologise to Feyre, to see if there was anything I could do for her.”

Nesta just grumbled a _whatever_ and walked over to the couch on the spare spot beside Feyre. “Well this has been eventful,” Cassian clapped his hands together. “I guess I’ll be heading to bed. Good show tonight guys.” He headed out the room to his own, but not without glancing once more at Nesta—who completely ignored him—before he left. 

Everyone else seemed to disperse as well with small goodnights. Mor and Elain shared a few hushed words with one another before Elain headed out with Nesta and Mor followed Azriel. Lucien just curtly nodded to Rhys and Feyre and made his way downstairs. That left the two alone, save Amren who was passed out in her bed. She would sleep through any storm if there were one tonight.

“I guess I should leave too,” Feyre mumbled. Rhys placed his hand gently atop hers before she could stand up. “Or… I could stay?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” Rhys said. He looked over his shoulder to where Amren was sleeping, “She won’t notice either.”

Feyre turned up palm upwards, letting Rhys take her hand in his as he stood up and guided her to his own room. There sat a large lavish bed in the centre of the room. Its covers were black save for the white constellations that dotted over it. They seemed to glow in the dark. On the tall bedposts hung cloth that, in truth, Feyre had never really known what it was for in the first place besides decoration.

“Did you tailor this room for yourself?” She accidentally said out loud. 

Rhys’ laugh was low, but he nodded. “Yes. If I’m staying in a place for a long time, I’d like it to be comfortable.”

“Do you mind if I or… or we shower first? I’m covered in glitter,” Feyre showed her nervousness much more than she usually would. Fortunately, Rhys was able to talk her nerves down. Even his hands softly touching her elbow and guiding her to the bathroom was enough to help her calm down. “Or a bath,” Feyre frowned. “That bath is huge. Wow.”

Rhys closed the door behind them. “It’s spectacular,” he agreed. “You’d be missing an amazing experience in your life if you didn’t try it out. I even have bubbles.”

She snorted, “Bubbles. That’s just the cherry on the top. Bath it is then.” Rhys begun filling it up. He knelt down to pour in the bubble liquid as the water ran. Feyre took her one and only chance to push past the box she felt stuck in and slip out of her dress. She wore nothing else underneath it, and she was sure he’d seen enough anyway. But still, wearing a thin cloth was more than being naked. 

Especially as he was still fully clothed.

He stood up and wiped his wet hands on his pants. But as he turned around he stopped mid-wipe. He was completely shocked. More shocked than hearing Nesta screaming. ( _If Nesta can scream like that, so can Feyre_ , was the only thing going on in his mind at that moment.) Rhys let his hands drop to his side as he took all of Feyre in.

“Okay I take it back,” Feyre said as she hurried to grab her dress. Her face was red and her hands were shaking. She hadn’t done something like this in _so_ long. Tamlin didn’t bat an eyelash anymore, after all. 

Rhys took a step forward and softly put a hand on hers, which held her bundled up dress. “Please don’t,” he said. “I mean, if you feel you don’t want me here I can go. I’ll just be out there.” 

“Oh,” Feyre stammered out some words. None made sense. They just sounded like noises. “Ok.” She nodded and dropped the dress. Rhys took both her hands in his and put them on his chest, where his shirt was still buttoned. She understood what he was telling her to do, so she begun to unclasp each button all the way to the bottom. She helped him shrug it off. 

Her hands went back to his chest, lightly touching it with her fingertips. He was warm enough that it made her shuffle forward closer to him. Rhys took her hands, pushing them down gently so that at any moment she could pull away. She stood up on her tip-toes as her hands were busying themselves down at his pants. Her lips found his in no time.

Their kiss was in no way as rushed as it had been in the elevator. This time, they took their time exploring one another’s mouths. Feyre managed to push down Rhys’ pants in the meantime, and then grabbing the waistband of his underwear and tearing that down as well.

Rhys begun moving his hands over Feyre’s body at that moment. He begun at the small of her back, one hand sliding down to cup her ass and pull her up against him hard as the other gripped her hip. Feyre’s hand slinked up into his hair and down to his chest. She couldn’t believe the heat he radiated.

They thought of nothing but each other’s bodies. It was hard to take it in turns. They found their arms getting tangled and eventually had to pull apart to breath. “I think the bath is ready,” Feyre breathed into his mouth before he could press it against hers again. He nodded, leaning down to kiss her quickly before turning around and turning the water off. Feyre inwardly squealed as she got to actually glimpse his naked body.

“Are you getting in?” Rhys asked as he stepped into the water. He noticed that she was looking at everything but his eyes and he smirked, “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Ok,” Feyre breathed. She walked towards him and let him guide her into the water besides him. “This is nice.”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been gone for over 3 weeks as I've had a teaching placement! Please enjoy this short chapter on Mor while I set myself up for uni. Expect some more of that bath scene with Feyre and Rhys when I next upload ;)

Though Mor was going to head straight to bed, she ditched Azriel. Instead, she snuck through a staff door that lead to the rooftop of the hotel. She pulled her cardigan around herself as she headed out into the brisk open air. Her head whirled from the night of drinking. But not only that, her head whirled with the thoughts of a certain someone she’d spent the night talking to. 

Mor sat down on the ledge of the roof and hummed to herself. This was a song she was writing. But everything kept changing. At first, the lyrics talked about the physical beauty of someone. Now, it was more specifically about Elain. It was about Elain’s voice as she laughed. It was about how Elain ran her fingers around the rim of her glass when it was empty. It was about the way Elain looked up at the sky when she left the pub, and when she looked at it before heading back inside the hotel—as if it might be the last time she would see it again. 

Mor found herself dreaming about all those little things she noticed. All those little things she never noticed about someone else in her lifetime. Sure, there was a time she thought she loved Azriel, but that happens when you’re young and you aren’t sure of the world. Now, Mor felt so sure of the world. She felt so sure the world was giving her a gift. But how do you open a gift like this?

She should have been good at this. She was good at this. She woo’ed women all the time without a fault. But this time, nervousness tingled in her fingertips before she touched Elain’s skin. She might have been flirting with her, but the only thing going on in her mind at the time was the worry that Elain might not want it. That eventually, she’ll get bored and go back to the guy she has back at home. 

Mor wanted to be that guy. She wanted to be the one that Elain would go home to. 

“Ugh,” she realised what she was thinking. “Gross. The future.” She stood up and shook herself out, pacing up and down the concrete floor. Mor never thought about her future. She never thought about settling down. Nor did she think about what would happen when one of the band members decided they wanted to do something else with their life. 

Mor shoved her hands over her face and groaned. Her head hurt. Her body hurt. She was exhausted and energetic at the same time. She turned back down towards the stairs. Standing up here and groaning about her thoughts weren’t going to get her anywhere. Getting a good sleep and acting on those thoughts would.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION: If you are under 18 you should not be reading this. You will not be missing anything vital to the overall story.
> 
> This is pretty much smut minus the words because I'm still immature and find it embarrassing to write them. Also, this is my first time writing it (and I don't like reading it) so it's not like, amazing.
> 
> This is also super late so I didn't bother editing because no one will notice. You'll be noticing the more important detail.

Feyre bit down on her bottom lip to stifle a groan as her back and shoulder muscles were kneaded by a pair of thumbs. Rhys marvelled at the small sounds that escaped her lips. The sounds made his movements last longer as he lingered along a knot that he felt in her muscles. He had to laugh when Feyre finally shuddered and attempted to turn around in the bath, reaching for his hands. But he was too quick for her. 

Rhys’ hands found her hips and turned her around completely, so that she was sitting on top of him. She stabilised herself by wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “How often do you do this sort of thing?” She blurted out. She felt stupid all of a sudden. Why would she risk ruining this moment?

“What of you mean, this sort of thing?” Rhys frowned. 

“Well,” she couldn’t exactly back out now. “I guess, I mean, do you often take home someone from your gigs?” 

Rhys’ hand moved to the small of her back. He brought her closer, close enough that she could feel—“I’ll take that as a not usually,” Feyre sighed happily as their lips found one another. Though the water had become more lukewarm than hot, their bodies against one another was enough to fight away the chill. 

They sat like that for a while, embraced in each others arms with their lips constantly locked together. Their heavy breathing began to fog up the mirror and window in the room. But it didn’t stop them. Rhys’ spare hand slowly made its way from Feyre’s hip down her thigh. His thumb brushed down her inner thigh as he was doing so, teasing her. He refused to let everything happen at once, despite the fact he knew (and Feyre knew) his body desperately wanted to. 

Feyre’s fingers gripped the back of Rhys’ hair as he continued teasing her. Constantly refusing to move his fingers even an inch closer. She pushed up on her knees so that their lips parted and Rhys had to look up to her. Though, slowly, his eyes wandered downwards. Feyre close her eyes when she saw him look at her stomach. He leaned in to kiss her softly. His lips didn’t once leave her skin as they trailed down. Soon enough his tongue had slipped out once or twice. 

At this point, Feyre’s head was spinning so hard that she couldn’t tell if she was still breathing heavily or letting the loud moans escape her mouth. Whatever she was doing, it was enough to have Rhys move low enough with his lips and tongue that he hit something pleasurable. Her mouth opened in a wide O shape. Feyre gripped a side of the bathtub with one hand, and Rhy’s shoulder with the other. 

Rhys shifted himself all of a sudden, so that he wasn’t beneath her anymore. Feyre saw it all in slow motion as the need for pleasure was still swirling the thoughts in her head. Rhys was hauling her out of the bath in his arms. He attempted to dry them off with a towel as he strolled towards the bed, Feyre’s legs wrapped around him and their lips once again locked together. 

In a short amount of time Feyre was sitting on the edge of the bed with the towel wrapped around her shoulders, and Rhys was on his knees in between her legs. He held one of her legs up, while his other hand gripped her hips. He held her steady as he planted kisses along her thigh once again. She found herself pushing his head down, begging him to stop the teasing. It was more than obvious that she couldn’t take any more of it. 

His tongue flicked out where is was most sensitive for just a single moment, but it was enough for Feyre to shudder. While Feyre was busy in the middle of it all, picturing his lips where they were and what they were doing to her, Rhys’ two fingers slipped inside of her. He pushed them up the full length, not at all testing what she could take. He could sense that she wanted it all, that nothing right now was off limits.

Feyre swore and spread her legs wider apart. She invited him to do anything to her. Anything he wanted. She was desperate for him to move, to touch her. Rhys took his fingers out, and pushed in a third this time. She groaned, “Fuck.” And in an instant, Rhys’ lips were back onto her centre. His tongue licked around his own fingers first, so that he could taste her. Then, his tongue slid up to that bundle of nerves… her legs twitched. She had to force them apart. Rhys’ spare hand pulled the one leg against his head, telling her it was okay. He could move like this.

He began a smooth rhythm, however fast. He was desperate to see her finish, just as she was desperate to start. He pushed in hard with his fingers, finding it hard to not imagine it wasn’t just his fingers that were doing the job. He wanted to know how she would feel with another part of him inside her. But that was for another time. This was for now. 

“Don’t stop,” Feyre cried out. Her voice hitched high slightly as she felt the climax coming on. She began to swear again. Her legs twitching uncontrollably, hers fingers gripping onto his hair. One of her own hands held her breasts, her thumb twirling around her nipple that was aching for attention as much as in between her legs were.

And then she felt it. Rhys did too. Rhys could feel her leg muscles tighten all of a sudden. He felt her hand loosen atop his head as her fingers flexed outwards. His fingers, inside of her, could feel it all. He felt how she clenched around them. He moved them in small motions now, not taking them out so that the pleasure would last longer. 

Feyre’s back arched. She felt… ethereal. Her back hit the soft bed beneath her as she fell backwards. And soon, her legs relaxed against Rhys’ head. He softly finished cleaning her up with his tongue. As he did so, small jolts of strong pleasure was sent through her nerves. She whispered his name, “Come here.” He didn’t budge, and so she tugged him up though she felt like all her energy was spent.

Her eyes were closed by the time he was finished. Her breathing was laboured, but she pulled herself onto his chest when she felt him lay beside her. “What about you?” she managed to ask. “You wasted all my energy.”

“There’s always the morning,” he reassured her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her close. He fell asleep with a smirk on his face.


End file.
